


Simulacrum

by flamboyantlycriminal (error221b)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sebastian's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:07:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/error221b/pseuds/flamboyantlycriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wouldn't understand, Jim wouldn't forgive. He was so absent these days, busy with things so much more important than that lovesick puppy of a man Sebastian was. Jim didn't need him, what did it matter to him who was keeping his bed warm. Jim needed someone to use and Sebastian volunteered, thinking he knew what it would entail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simulacrum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duckhouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckhouse/gifts).



She was a pretty one, no doubt there. A petite brunette with narrow hips and an old tattoo of three tiny stars on her shoulder blade Sebastian would guess were an eighteen-year-old's act of rebellion. She hasn't been eighteen anymore, not for a very long time. The shallow wrinkles by her eyes as she smiled and visibly paler skin on the finger she used to wear her wedding ring on were a clear giveaway. That and maybe how she really knew a fair few tricks in bed. Sophie, that was her name if he remembered well. Graceful Sophie, thirty four, he estimated, whose drink of choice was a martini and who had the second most beautiful eyes he has ever seen, chocolatey brown and so dark you could swear they were black if all the light you had were a dim lamp on the bedside table and the shy glow of a street at three am.

Lucy was a blonde, thin enough to let him feel her bones as she snuggled close, still delightfully hazy from both, sex and the white wine they had in indecent amounts just hours earlier. She was definitely the skinniest person he ever cradled, which he genuinely doubted was even possible before he met her. She stayed until the morning and he watched her sleep, long lashes, smudged mascara and protruding ribcage. She had a long scar down her stomach, a familiar appendix job gone wrong. She couldn't be older than thirty and she was beautiful.

Next one wasn't beautiful. He was bald and bossy and had that air about him that betrayed he was American even before he opened his mouth to confirm it with a strong accent. He was strong and muscly under a suit like from cheap porn, fitting him only in terms of being able to cover his hulky body without breaking at the seams. Harry called him a boy once and it was almost funny. He left in a hurry when Sebastian was still a little out of it, making him feel used as he was leaking from between his legs. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, above all else he wanted a smoke, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and get one. He slept really well that night.

Once a chubby redhead, definitely not his usual, chatted him up, flashing a bright smile and looking at his tags more often than at his eyes. She liked soldiers and leather and spoke Farsi fluently. They had a lot in common and had a great time when he growled in a foreign language as she rode him. He was almost fond of the memory, even though she wasn't quite the kind of a hook up he went out looking for. She had a bit of a taste for a little violence though, slapping him with unexpected ferocity. Yes, Cathy was a darling.

Tommy chatted him up too, wondered if he'd buy him a drink. Sebastian never figured out if it was just a pick up, or if he was too young to buy his own. He was a boy really, tall, but with endearingly soft features that would mislead people even once he would be of age. Sebastian bought him that drink, of course, and even offered him a cigarette which the boy accepted eagerly. He led them outside, pulling Sebastian into an alley. Having done his maths as he ran his hand through the boy's hair, Sebastian was only surprised by the small kiss on his lips when Tommy was done and that he left with a smile, not even naming a price.

Alice was a bad memory. He was with her when Jim called and she just wouldn't shut up. He probably would have shot her if he had the gun out of the drawer. Adorable and pretty, she didn't seem to grasp the concept of 'he can't know about you', asking him to put the phone away. With a curse, Sebastian pretty much crawled out of his bed, picking up his clothes and getting ready to leave.  
In fifteen minutes he had kicked her out and made it to the car, on his way to pick up the Irishman.  
"You took your time." Jim complained as was pretty much his custom.  
"It's a ride, it's not like I could teleport myself."  
Jim only hummed in acknowledgment and didn't speak for the rest of their way home.

The flat was silent and cold, the window Sebastian left open to change the air let the soft chill creep in and made the sniper feel so strange and foreign and out of place. Why was he even feeling guilty? He wasn't the one to blame.  
Jim tossed his travelling bag to the floor and eyed the bed suspiciously. It wasn't slept in, not in the two days he was gone. And there was no way the sniper would let the flat get so cold while in it. It was always too warm for him when he was coming back. Cracking his neck, he undressed himself slowly, putting away each piece of clothing carefully folded.  
"Have a shower and come on in." He murmured, sliding under the cool covers and adjusting his pillow lightly, making himself comfortable.  
Feeling he had no choice, Sebastian obeyed. He wondered if Jim could tell. If that stupidly cliché change of plans would get him killed. He was terrified of him sometimes, yes. That hot, uncontrollable, crazy fury only an idiot would disregard. But there was that side to him, the cold and calculating one, when he would withdraw and make it business, that gave him the real chills. He wasn't Jim anymore then, he wasn't sure if he was even human in these moments.  
Sebastian let the water burn his skin, purging it of anybody else's touch. He was Jim's then, as he should always be.

Jim was asleep when he came back to the bedroom. He joined him as quietly and carefully as he could, not wanting to wake him up. He looked harmless when he was asleep, gentle. His chest was moving slowly, ribs visible clearly under the thin skin, and Sebastian couldn't help but want to watch him like this forever. The tiny body, too small to contain him, burning itself up to fuel that incredible brain of his. Jim stirred and raised his eyelids just a bit, watching Sebastian with almost the same curiosity. Only colder.  
He moved closer to the sniper, pressing his nearly naked body against his and kissing right under his jaw, soft yet demanding. Sebastian felt as if he should tell Jim everything, needing so desperately to confess he let him down. Jim wouldn't understand, Jim wouldn't forgive. He was so absent these days, busy with things so much more important than that lovesick puppy of a man Sebastian was. Jim didn't need him, what did it matter to him who was keeping his bed warm. Jim needed someone to use and Sebastian volunteered, thinking he knew what it would entail. And yet, there he was, fucking strangers because they reminded him of Jim. One detail, one detail to concentrate on was enough to pretend...  
"What are you thinking so hard about?" Jim murmured, licking up a stripe to Sebastian's ear. "You'll hurt yourself."  
"I'm just tired." Sebastian murmured an excuse, but leaned to nuzzle Jim's neck, littering his skin with small, soft kisses. He wasn't sure if he wanted Jim to ask what made him so tired. No, Jim must have known, why else would he be pushing him away, nudging him just a step further every single time he would leave without him? Something was wrong and Sebastian could tell it was his fault. He wasn't demoted, no, quite the opposite even, but handling Jim's business instead of going with him when a case required a meeting felt like a slap, burning red on his cheek. He wasn't a bodyguard anymore, he felt, rather a grotesquely inappropriate backup copy of his employer. He was efficient, feared and respected, meaning he was suitable in Jim's eyes, but he wasn't some bloody criminal mastermind, he was more that happy enough being Jim's walking shield and he missed the times when Jim would indulge him like that, letting him watch him all day as he drew plans Sebastian could never invent himself and claimed him at night as a reward of sorts. What was happening was a painful caricature of what they used to have. All good things come to an end, don't they? At least he never let himself believe Jim loved him, as tempted as he might have been every now and then.  
"Didn't you miss me?" Jim raised an eyebrow, teasing again.  
"Of course I did. I always do." Even when you are right here, but not thinking of me. When you dream and your dreams are of someone else, when you breathe somebody else's name in your sleep, when you moan and forget who you are with for a moment, almost slipping. When I go and smoke half a pack of cigarettes just so you acknowledge me, even if only to bitch about the smell.  
It wasn't his Jim in their bed.

When he woke up in the morning, Jim's side of the bed was already cold. Sebastian rubbed his face lightly and stroked the soft fabric of Jim's pillow, pulling it over to rest on his face for a couple of minutes as he was still coming to consciousness, lying to himself Jim was still there with him.  
What followed was a daily routine, a cold shower to wash away sleep and dried up come, a towel around his hips as he turned on the coffee machine, a quick and easy pick of clothes, sometimes wiping the wet footsteps as he got his coffee. Checking his emails as he drank it, washing his and Jim's cups, a breakfast, a meeting. He started using a calendar organiser. He hated it.

Jim killed himself within a fortnight. He marked the date in his calendar.

Julianne was maybe a year older than him, they had matching black circles under their eyes, hers peeking through the thin layer of a carefully applied concealer. She was almost too pale, with short and messy black hair and lips stained blood red. He could swear it was the same shade as the cosmetic in the top drawer of the desk in the study. They had a coffee and talked. Her eyes nearly watered as she looked away once or twice before faking a playful smirk.  
"Your place or mine?"  
He took her to his old flat. They fucked, she cried, he smoked, they exchanged fake numbers. He liked her.

He was working hard, harder than he would allow Jim on most days, out of worry for the man's fragile health. Twelve hours with the papers, a party pill or two, a club, a quickie in the restrooms on Fridays. Ten hours of work and and a stalk for his prey on the weekends. "All work and no play make Sebby a dull boy." He learnt to ignore the lilting voice in the back of his head.

He met Tommy again one night, they ran into each other, both slightly drunk, both smiling for no other reason than the loud music, drowning out all other sounds. Sebastian pulled out a pack of cigarettes and smirked at the boy. They laughed and left together. This time Tommy made it as far as to the flat, if not to the bed, and they rolled on the floor of the nearly empty living room, the boy making sounds almost as delicious as those he used to hear every night. He took Sebastian's cigarettes and a hundred pound note as he left, blowing him a kiss.

In just a couple of months a single pill wasn't enough to get him out of bed. When he woke up in the morning, Jim's side of the bed was still cold. Sebastian reached for the pills on the top of the nightstand and downed them with whatever it was in the shot glass next to them. Alcohol. Good. He rubbed his face lightly and stroked the soft fabric of Jim's pillow, pulling it over to rest on his face for a couple of minutes as he was still coming to consciousness, lying to himself Jim was still there with him.  
What followed was a daily routine, a cold shower to wash away the cold sweat of a nearly sleepless night, a towel around his hips as he turned on the coffee machine, a quick and easy pick of clothes, sometimes wiping the wet footsteps as he got his coffee. Checking his emails as he drank it, washing his cup, sometimes a breakfast, more often a drink or whatever pills were on the countertops, a meeting. He was still using a calendar organiser. He got used to it.


End file.
